The Ocean

I have a nice ocean view, looking out from my cliff-top dwelling. It used to run in the neighborhood of a mill and a half, back when money still mattered. The real estate agent even told me that a minor celebrity from the 40s owned it once.

I’ve got that marvelous storage space, enough food to last me several years.

The ocean of zombies roaming around down on the beach can’t get up to me. Not after I cut the only access, the suspension bridge, from this end.

But I am running terribly short on shells for the sniper rifle.

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Micro Attraction

In the furthest corner of the abandoned theme park, there is a tiny building. Its boards are weathered, paint flaking away. Around it lies a vast, flat, empty expanse of blacktop stretching away in all directions.

The wall of this tiny building contains a window. It is barred, like a prison cell, and inside is nothing but blackness which no light penetrates. To the right of this window hangs a poster, in lurid circus colors:

“See the Borneo Vampire Boy, accused in the deaths of 25 innocents!”

Over the barred window hangs a simple sign:

“All Night Parking, 10 cents.”

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For this Flush the Fiction, I attempted to hit 100 words exactly (as tallied by Scrivener). Much more limiting than I imagined. Hat’s off to Adam Ickes, his Tiny Tales are even more impressive to me now.

This piece was inspired by a piece of Deviantart, this one by ValaVala, that I stumbled on while browsing.

Secret Weapon

Nobody was really sure how Bobby could do the things he did.

Mr. Drucker swore that Bobby’s ray gun was just a cheap toy; colorful plastic, a battery and a little light, Made in Japan. Anyone could buy one for just a couple of bucks.

But when Bobby pointed his ray gun at the playground swing set and said “Zap!”, the swing set vanished. Just gone, like it was never there.

Any time Bobby zapped something with his plastic ray gun, it disappeared. The grade school. Police cars, ambulance, a fire truck. All just gone.

The governor sent in the National Guard. Tanks, jeeps and rifles. Bobby was “an unprecedented danger and an unpredictable threat,” the Governor said. The soldiers marched into town, parked their tanks all around the town square and surrounded Bobby, rifles pointed. The news cameras caught all of the action as it unfolded, live to the entire nation.

And the National Guard marched out again wearing nothing but their skivvies.

Do you remember that day when the alien warships landed at the edge of town, and those tripod robot things were heat-beaming everything in sight?

Nobody was really sure how Bobby could do the things he did. But we were sure glad that he could do them.

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The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley

I hop out of bed, grab my new InfiniteCheckbook™ and jump in the car; this is going to be a busy, busy day.

  • The first place I need to go is to the local IRS office. I have some taxes to pre-pay, lest my extravagance lands me in prison. And since InfiniteCheckbook™ only lasts for twenty-four hours, I’d best take care of the Feds right up front. It’s irksome that InfiniteCheckbook™ funds aren’t tax-free, but apparently that’s not in the terms of service. I’ve re-read them dozens of times; cover-you-butt must come first when you’re dealing with Federal jail terms.
  • Lawyer’s office next; I will need several lawyerbots with me when we…
  • Head to the bank: I have some trust funds to set up. My folks and my son will be taken care of, and a nice big fat trust fund set up for me and Annie (for tomorrow and the day after and the day after that…something about the size of the Bill Gates Foundation should just about cover it.) Wait, why is this IRS vulture following me now?
  • Bodyguards. Going to need some private GI-Joe Cops. And some security systems…
  • Now I suppose I should start purchasing Stuff™, but I’m already totally exhausted. Are our future needs covered? OK then, Stuff™ can wait ‘til tomorrow, right?

Starting to see the issue here? More money just creates more problems, and a LOT more money…well, I just may give most of this back. I don’t think I’m really cut out for the Warren Buffet lifestyle.

I mean, I’ve just spent the majority of the day on trivia, and it’s made me miserable (dealing with red tape and lawyer nonsense and bureaucracy). How many forms have I had to sign already in my short little “paradise” day? How many phone calls will I be receiving as a result? Oh lord, the telemarketers, as soon as they hear about this…oh no no no no, aieeeeee!

And how the hell will I shake off this IRS vulture and eager investment bankers that are now following me everywhere?

Annie, is it ok if we do without quite so much Stuff™?

Far from the solution to all our problems that it first appears to be, it sounds a lot more like Dante:

I am the way into the city of woe,
I am the way to a forsaken people,
I am the way into eternal sorrow.

Sacred justice moved my architect.
I was raised here by divine omnipotence,
primordial love and ultimate intellect.

Only those elements time cannot wear
were made before me, and beyond time I stand.
Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

Could we maybe have just a nice slow and easy trickle of Stuff, instead?

RecDave Seal

Now I’m frightened

You’re given unlimited funds to plan one day full of any and all luxuries you normally can’t afford. Tell us about your extravagant day with as much detail as possible.